


Breaking Things to Fix Them

by Silvertwist (pocketTherapist)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Author has a God Complex, But they try anyway, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Explicit Language, FOURTH WALL WHAT FOURTH WALL, Hurt/Comfort, It's Deadpool guys come on, LOTS of violence, Mostly hurt because neither of these idiots knows how to comfort, Sort of maybe AU, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Boxes are Not Impressed, Torture, Violence, White and Yellow are Bold and Italics, maybe some angst?, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketTherapist/pseuds/Silvertwist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier is Hydra's greatest Asset. Life is simple--he follows orders, kills what he's told to, finishes the mission, and is wiped and returns to storage. Unfortunately, his programming contains no information on what to do with a target that simply won’t stay dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and dedicated to my younger sister, who declared that since there were no good DP/Winter Soldier crossovers, I would have to write one. Here's to you.
> 
> I wrote pieces of this while very tired. It's not betad, and some of it is probably borderline crack. Enjoy at your own risk.

Wade knew the instant he heard the voice behind him that he was screwed. It wasn't something he would have expected to hear in the compound he was systematically razing—a child's voice, high and wavering and pleading—and it sent a wave of ice down his spine.

"Mister Deadpool?"

He turns away from the corpse he's standing over and focuses on the little girl standing in the entrance to the room and the man standing behind her, poised with a gun at the base of her skull. Her eyes are wide and her lips are quivering, but she's doing her best not to cry.

Wade grits his teeth behind his mask and sheathes his katanas, crouching down to eye level with the girl across the room.

"Hey, sweetheart. What do you need?"

The man behind her grins with too many teeth and pushes the gun a little further against her neck.

"What she needs, if you want her to walk out of here just fine, is for you to remove all your weapons and get against that wall." The goon jerks his head toward the far wall, empty of everything except the remaining two legs of a desk that hadn't survived the brawl. Wade hesitates for only a moment before unstrapping the harness that holds his blades; if it comes down to his well-being or hers, it's hardly a question. She doesn't deserve any of this. He sets the swords on the ground with a reverence he shows to little else, and begins divesting himself of his remaining weapons, a rather impressive array of knives, guns, and various explosives. The man with the girl nods approvingly and moves further into the room, guiding the girl by a hand twisted cruelly into her hair. She whimpers quietly, but keeps her eyes on Deadpool with unwavering faith.

Wade maintains eye contact, talking to her as he finishes piling his weaponry on the ground and backs away from it, keeping his hands visible at all times.

"You'll be fine, kiddo, okay? Deadpool's gonna go with these guys and they're gonna let you go. When I say so, I want you to close your eyes and don't look no matter what, okay?"

She nods as much as she can, wide-eyed, and the man holding her nods behind him, signaling the team behind him. They surge forward and Wade winks at the girl, who closes her eyes obediently the instant before a rifle butt slams into the base of his skull, dropping him to his knees. His vision blurs but he locks his eyes on the man holding the girl, a silent warning in his gaze. The man grins and removes his gun from the girl's head, turns her around, and pushes her down the hallway toward the door.

"Get outta here, kid."

She doesn't need to be told twice, and takes off. Wade spreads his hands wider away from his body as soon as she's safely out of range and drops his head, forcing himself not to resist as a heavy boot in his back forces him into the ground facefirst, remaining there as two more goons twist his arms behind his back and secure them there with bonds that Deadpool's pretty sure Captain America couldn't break. He grins through a mouthful of blood as he's hauled back to his knees and sees the head goon screwing a silencer onto the gun he had on the girl.

"Awww, for little old me? You're so _thoughtful_ , I'd hate to be awake to watch you guys fumble something you had to get a little girl to do for you!"

The goon pistol-whips him, cracking something in his cheekbone, and Wade _laughs_ as the gun is raised to his forehead.

"I'm gonna kill you all, you know that, right?"

The trigger is pulled, and everything dissolves into white noise.

 

He wakes up strapped to a table, a grinning man in a white lab coat standing over him, the epitome of the mad scientist. He's not wearing anything, his scars on livid display against his skin, but right now Wade figures that's the least of his problems. The man over him says the traditional lines about "Oh, you're awake" and "This is what we're going to do to you" and "This might sting a little" but Wade just grins at him with too many teeth until the man gives up trying to get a response out of him and just starts cutting instead.

Wade learned long ago, from his days in Weapon X, that nothing really helps, but expressing the pain can make it that much more bearable. So he screams, and laughs, and talks until his voice breaks and heals and breaks again. The scientists resort to cutting his tongue out every few hours just to shut him up while it regrows, but they're careful not to let him choke on the blood and gain respite via blissful death. They never do tell him exactly what the goal is, but he can deduce with the lucid remnants of his mind that they're studying his healing factor, at least for a while. After that they just do it to shut him up or entertain themselves while they're working on other things, his table shoved to the side of the room, out of the way of the experiments they're working on, using his blood and healing factor as a base for.

Through it all, he never shuts up unless he's alone, when he allows himself a few moments of blissful silence and relief from the worst of the pain.

It's his fifth week there that his mind finally takes enough strain at once to overwhelm his healing factor and breaks, and the last thing he really registers is a sense of relief.

It doesn't last. His damaged mind heals itself overnight, and when he comes back to himself in the morning there's another voice in his head with him.

**Hey, sweetheart. Looks like you and me are gonna be roommates now, huh?**

That freaks him out enough that he stops talking, right in the middle of an operation he's pretty sure has no purpose other than finding out the sensitivity of the insides of the human body. The scientists actually pause, one of them looking up from the scalpel he's prodding Wade's insides with to give a concerned look at Wade's face.

Wade gives them his best manic grin and begins to explain to them, in explicit detail, what exactly he's going to do to each of them, when he gets out of here.

**What, not going to tell them about me?**

Wade lets out a laugh that turns into a choked scream as one of the scientists slips a scalpel between his vertebrae to poke at his spinal cord.

The voice in his head doesn't leave with time, as Wade had hoped it would. He can't decide if this means his mind has broken beyond his healing factor's ability to repair, or if this is just another one of his body's defensive mechanisms to keep him—hah—sane. His own resilience never fails to surprise and disappoint him. His quiet hours aren't even his own, anymore, filled with aimless chatter by his new voice about infinite parallel universes and stories about something called a multiverse and a cruel, cruel god dictating his fate for the amusement of others. The voice isn't quite clear on whether the god is simply narrating his pain, or causing it, but Wade thinks he might hate them anyway.

**You know they do care about you though. At least a little. Otherwise they wouldn't bother.**

Wade swipes his newly-regrown tongue along the back of his teeth and twists his head sideways to spit out a glob of blood. He doesn't really have the energy for hate right now anyway, and he guesses that someone who cares about him is at least kind of a nice change, rather than someone who just wants his pain.

_Well, they do want your pain. But they also want to fix it, kind of, so if you hold on long enough they'll find a way to get you help._

**The fuck are you??**

_Your new roommate. Hi, Wade baby, looks like we're Bold and Italics here, instead of Yellow and White. I can live with that._

**What the shit, he's mine, go find your own head to live in, I had this one first.**

_God says so, so deal with it._

**Well shit.**

Wade gives up trying to make sense of the exchange and retreats deep within his mind, trying to figure out a way to ignore something inside his own head. It's a welcome distraction from the pain, at least for now, while electricity is sparking up and down his spinal cord and his nerves are flaring with fire. He doesn't know how much longer he can last, except that he knows with a sick sense of horror that he doesn't actually have a limit; no matter how he breaks, he will be put together again with no chance of the respite that death has become.

His boxes are still discussing their "god," since apparently Italics is in on this crazy new religion too-- _Arrogant thing, aren't they?--_ and Wade finally finds it within himself to talk back, even though he's pretty sure that acknowledging the voices in his head might mean that they take it as an invitation to stick around.

You said that the god was gonna get me out of this?

_Man, spoilers!_

**Sorry Tals, but come on, a little hope won't hurt things too much, will it?**

_So? We like him hopeless and alone, right?_

**Well yeah but only so They can put him back together again, right?**

_It's still not yours to give._

**Except it kind of is, isn't it?**

_Man, this shit makes my head hurt._

**You don’t even have a head.**

Wade is torn from his mind by a particularly painful twisting sensation and looks up to the sight of his lower spinal cord being wrenched out of position. The boxes go silent—pain, apparently, consumes his attention so that he can no longer hear them—and Wade falls back into the familiar patterns. Breathe. Talk. Scream. Wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the Asset!

The Asset has been pulled from storage for a rebel faction that has grown arrogant, tried to sever itself from the body. The Asset could have told them that the attempt would be unsuccessful. Heads do not survive when they are removed from the body. He has removed plenty of heads before. This will be no different. They drop him outside the main base and tell him to leave no survivors. He rolls his shoulder, unslings his assault rifle, and proceeds inside.

He is met with fierce resistance at first, the security and rogue agents fighting tooth and nail to contain him in the entryway, where he has limited range of motion and cannot hunt them down. He takes two bullets, but in a war of attrition, the Asset has more resources than this rogue cell, and before long they have no more fighters to throw at him. He proceeds through the base, summarily shooting on sight. He finds the Head huddled inside a conference room, the doors barricaded. He kicks through the door and the barricade both and cuts the throat of every would-be leader inside.

He is making sure that everyone inside the compound is dead when he hears someone singing. Loudly. And _badly._ The Asset cannot place this within the context of the situation, and does not like it. He resolves to silence the voice permanently in order to remove the source of the confusion. He follows the sound down a flight of stairs he has not yet traversed and finds a set of double doors, leading into a lab. The scientists there are all clustered against the far wall, looking terrified and angry. One of them is leaning over a table, doing something, and the singing cuts off abruptly. The Asset slams through the doors and the scientists whirl to face him, the one who was bending over the table straightening to drop a scarlet lump to the floor, his hands covered in blood. The Asset can see that there is a man strapped to the table, or rather, what is left of a man. His tongue lies on the floor, and his spinal cord is visible through the dissected wreck of his insides. His body—the parts of it that are still intact—is skeletal, skin papery and bones jutting knifelike in sharp counterpoint to the hollows elsewhere. Most horrifyingly, his eyes are open, his chest heaving as blood pours from his mouth. His breathing makes a rising gurgle that sounds abnormally loud in the suddenly dead-silent space.

All of the lab techs clustered around the body raise their hands, and the one with bloody hands steps forward half a step.

"Wait! We're just scientists. We were just following orders."

The Asset takes two strides forward and breaks the man's neck. His orders are to kill everyone in the compound, and he does not care _what_ their function is. The other scientists scream and scatter, but it is the work of moments to finish off the rest of them. While he is doing this, the captive’s breaths slowly cease, the blood filling his lungs, and the Asset thinks that this is probably an act of mercy, to let him die here without any further pain. He takes extra care to destroy the scientists’ research, although he is not quite sure why, and as he finishes checking the bodies his attention is caught by a noise behind him. He whips around, gun at the ready, and then drops it to stare in disbelief.

The body on the table jerks violently, stares around, and starts laughing helplessly, a rasping wheeze that sounds painful and leaves tiny flecks of blood splattering the already rust-darkened lips. The Asset simply _stares,_ nothing in his programming containing information on what to do when he encounters a dead body that simply keeps moving. He is an expert on what the human body can survive, from both his training and his programming, and this is not possible. No one would have survived this kind of trauma, even with the anti-shock drugs Hydra has. Unfortunately for his training, this man _hadn’t_ survived, just died and…revived. While he was killing the scientists, the man had choked to death on his own blood and then revived to laugh at...something. The Asset sees no humor in the situation, but the Asset has also been reliably informed that he has no sense of humor, so perhaps he missed something. Or perhaps the man is just insane. Scars cover every inch of his exposed skin, twisting cruelly across his emaciated body in a grotesque parody of art. The Asset realizes that he can actually see the man’s diaphragm move as he laughs, slowly sealing itself over from a gash that appeared to have the sole purpose of letting air into the chest cavity to collapse lungs. The Asset’s stomach turns; he has inflicted injuries and torture upon those Hydra wants to make an example of, and has received his own punishments when his programming breaks down, but he has never seen such systematic destruction of a person, much less of one still alive.

The Asset pauses to consider his options. Hydra would probably take advantage of this being’s existence, use it to further upgrade the Asset himself, perhaps. This man could be useful. However… The Asset looks down at the man lying there helplessly, his insides slowly knitting themselves back together, and very carefully does not think about his next move. Instead, he thinks very hard about how his mission was to eliminate everyone inside the base, raze it as anything that had defied Hydra deserved. Everyone here has died at least once, and the vast majority stayed dead after the first time, and that means his mission is complete. This appears to satisfy the intense ache of his programming behind his eyes, the one that shows up whenever he considers modifications to his orders. It gives him another mission directive instead.

_Return to Base._

The Asset frowns down at the not-corpse, which has stopped laughing to simply grin back at him with eyes that look more resigned than amused. He knows, from something as primal as his most basic programming, that he _cannot_ leave the captive here, or give him to Hydra, or kill him, and that leaves the Asset only one option within the mission parameters. With a quick, effortless motion of his metal hand, he snaps the restraint holding the man’s right wrist and turns to go; the man will be able to free himself without difficulty, and it gives the Asset time to return to base with his strike team for deprogramming and storage without worrying about interference from this unexpected addition. He very pointedly does not consider the fact that this way, his strike team will be occupied with him, instead of watching the razed compound for a lone survivor.

Had the Asset paused to look back, he would have seen the man watching him go with eyes full of shock and disbelief, his freed hand making no immediate motion to release the rest of his restraints.


	3. Chapter 3

Wade stared after the disappearing man, his mind and body frozen with shock. It was only long minutes after the man was gone that he spoke aloud to the empty room.

“Did the _Winter fucking Soldier_ just let us go?”

**Looks like, yup. Hallelujah it’s a miracle.**

_You feeling the spirituality yet, Wade?_

“Hell yeah. I’m a motherfuckin’ convert.” Wade stares adoringly at the ceiling and flails a grateful hand at it, only to realize that he has not, in fact, released himself from the table yet. Without wasting another moment, he tears at the bindings at his throat and other wrist before sitting up to free his feet. With a deep breath that only burbles with a little blood, he swings himself off the table and pads across the bloody floor in search of clothes, willpower alone keeping him upright instead of assuming the prone position his wasted muscles would prefer.

_Good idea. Nobody wants to see that, and God’s no different._

**God, heh, that’s funny.**

Wade ignores them as best he can as he drags himself into his suit and mask, which he had discovered stashed in one of the formerly-locked cabinets. He frowns down at himself; the suit hangs too-wide off his shoulders and has simply _too much_ material to fit him properly. He can regain much of his former body mass with a lot of food and some sleep to let his healing factor process it, but he actually has to make it out of here first.

_Don’t forget your weapons. I’m betting on their being in one of these cabinets. Hurry up, Wilson, we’ve got plot to get to and your slow ass is holding us up._

Wade finds his katanas in the cabinet next to the one his suit had been to and spends another five minutes smashing in the rest of the drawers to reclaim his guns and knives, as well. Before he leaves the room to find his way out, he pauses long enough to kick furiously at the head scientist—pointless as it is, he had been looking forward to killing these idiots before the opportunity had been ripped away by his rescuer and venting a little bit of it feels good even if his tormenters aren’t there to feel it anymore.

_Oh, well. We’ll have plenty of other people to spend our rage and agony on, I’m sure._

**But for now, time to blow this shithole.**

Wade couldn’t agree more.

 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The next time Wade heard anything about the Winter Soldier, the Triskelion was being decimated and helicarriers were falling from the sky. Like the rest of the nation, Wade watched on television as Captain America and the Soldier tore at each other, wild and pained like injured animals. In the aftermath, while Cap was in the hospital and the Soldier had disappeared into the surrounding area, while the nation was panicking and SHIELD a tattered wreck, while Hydra scrambled to recover their greatest Asset, Wade made a few calls. Crazy he might be, but he wasn’t one to forget a debt owed, and besides, he had a bit of a bone to pick with Hydra anyway. His contacts were more than happy to provide Wade with a few names to look into, and not long after, Deadpool was grinning down at a terrified Brock Rumlow.

“What the shit do you want with this whole thing, man, this isn’t your gig, this is government shit, you’re way over your head,” Rumlow babbled into the barrel of the gleaming Desert Eagle that Deadpool had taken off of a useless Hydra officer.

_He didn’t know anything. But he had nice weapons. Very nice weapons._

**Yeah, too bad he didn’t get to use ‘em.**

Deadpool flapped a hand at his voices in a shushing motion and leaned closer to Rumlow.

“No, see, thing is that Hydra and I have some history, and I might owe someone a favor or two, but that’s none of your business. Right now, your business is telling me what I want to know, before I have to do notnice things to you. Either way you’re gonna tell me but one way is a lot nicer, yeah?”

Rumlow swallowed and shrugged.

“I’m out of date, but I’d rather not get kneecapped, so what do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything you know about the Winter Soldier, and I want a list of anyone who worked with him.”

Rumlow paled.

“Shit, motherfucker, you really are as crazy as they say you are. You’re going after _him_?”

Deadpool gave him one of his _friendliest_ smiles and sat down crosslegged, gun still aimed between his captive’s eyes.

“Well, yeah, y’know I always have to get myself mixed up in everything, and this time around looks like I’m getting into the big league. Now, if you don’t mind… I’m waiting.”

Rumlow took a deep breath, and started talking.


	4. Chapter 4

Wade approaches the ramshackle building with uncharacteristic caution. He might be indestructible now, but dying would set him back by hours he can’t afford, with this lead. He’d already had to dismantle several traps—one memorable one, an _actual_ bear trap, had taken his arm off at the elbow, costing him precious minutes to reattach it. Now, though, he just has to cross the wide, cleared strip of land ringing the hut without attracting notice. It’s easier said than done. The person in the house is a highly trained assassin who was a sniper before that. Wade thinks his chances of making it across the stretch of ground are pretty much nonexistent, but he doesn’t really have a better idea, so he sets his go bag on the ground—he doesn’t want to get blood on it if (when) he gets shot.

Wade makes it halfway across the makeshift moat before he gets kneecapped. He swallows his scream and stays down, keeping his empty hands visible and body language as non-threatening as he can manage. It doesn’t stop the Soldier from shattering his wrist and pinning him to the ground, metal hand clamped tightly around his throat. Wade gasps for enough air to say something, but he doesn’t make it that far before his mask is being torn away. He forces himself not to flinch, to look up into pitilessly blank eyes and hope against hope that the Soldier will _remember_.

The Soldier doesn’t seem to recognize him, but the grip on his throat loosens just enough for him to breathe as the assassin growls, “Are you Hydra? An Asset of theirs? Did they send you to bring this one back?”

Wade scoffs involuntarily. “Fuck no, fuck those assholes, I came to see if you were okay or if you needed anything or… well, fuck, I dunno, but I owe you one, even if you don’t remember why, so I’m here to offer assistance if you need it.”

The Soldier blinks, something resembling consternation crossing his features. Which, yeah, is a fairly normal response when confronted by a rambling Deadpool, but Wade doesn’t really mind in this case. He _is_ kind of confusing sometimes. Even to him.

**And us.**

_And Them. Even though They technically know everything about this… you still throw Them for a loop every once in a while._

**Should he be proud of that? I would be proud of that.**

_I think it’s worth being proud of, which probably means so do They. Wait, doesn’t that technically make me some kind of prophet? Am I the Speaker for They Who Know? Do I transmit Their Word to those in this universe who wish to know the Truth?_

**Dude. Shut up.**

_I should start a cult._

Wade zones out listening to the voices for long enough that the seemingly immovable and permanently stoic Soldier gets impatient. He snaps back into focus at an annoyed shake from the hand around his throat. He can only assume that a question was asked, so he blinks up at the Soldier and rasps out a “What?” around the metal constricting his throat.

The Soldier gives Wade a look that has more personality than Deadpool’s yet seen from him, managing to convey a blend of exasperation and irritation, but repeats himself.

“Where did you encounter this one? Were you a Mission?”

And oh, Wade does not want to answer that question, but he manages to give the Soldier a cocky grin and say,

“No, but you destroyed a base where I was being held. It was the only reason I made it out of there intact. Or…sort of intact.”

A tiny frown furrows the Soldier’s brow and the hand on Wade’s throat constricts slightly. Wade keeps talking.

“I owe you, see, you got me out of there and so now I’m here to help however I can.” He breaks off with a cough, the last of his air expelling itself past his new metal collar. He doesn’t really know what he expects next, but it wasn’t for the Soldier to suddenly release him entirely and sit back, tilting his head and scrutinizing Deadpool with a new light in his eyes, more assessing and less deadly.

“Mission Assist?”

What the hell, why not.

“Yes, mission assist. I am here to assist you.”

The Soldier nods decisively and stands, extending a hand to help Wade up. Unfortunately, his wrist is still broken, the healing process foiled by the sharp edges of bone spearing through Wade’s skin. The Soldier frowns at the wrist, holding it with surprising gentleness with his metal arm, and then simply scoops Wade up into a bridal carry. Deadpool thrashes, wailing dramatically about his plight, and the Soldier glowers down at him in the _least_ romantic gesture Wade thinks he’s ever seen.

_He could have at least asked before carrying us off like a blushing maiden._

**Yeah, nothing blushing or maidenlike about us. Wouldn’t mind being despoiled by that though. Yum.**

The Soldier sets Wade sort-of carefully on the sofa, hands him an empty leather knife sheath, and re-breaks Wade’s wrist while Wade is still staring at the sheath in confusion. He lets out a strangled yell that doesn’t really subside as the Soldier rearranges the configuration of his wrist bones. He catches on after only a moment—noise can be deadly, and Wade was combat-aware long before he was Deadpool—and shoves the sheath between his teeth, biting down on a strangled groan.

_This is not how you treat Mission Assists dammit we’re not all as durable as you are!_

**Well, technically, we’re more durable, but I don’t think he knows that, exactly. So the point stands.**

Wade opens his eyes to see the Soldier watching him in maybe-concern, deft fingers splinting the wrist while his eyes remain fixed on Wade’s face. Deadpool doesn’t have the heart to tell him that the bandage will be irrelevant in five minutes, and gives the Soldier a too-wide grin instead.

“Thanks. So, what mission am I here to assist on, exactly?”

The Winter Soldier smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a Plan is Formulated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /guys I must apologize for the year-long break and once more thank my sister (or curse her, possibly) for dragging me back into...this wreck. I can't believe I'm doing this. Where has my blissful amnesia gone?/
> 
> Uh, warnings for blue and orange morality, some language, author's god complex, appreciation of violence, depersonalization, internalized objectification... I think that's it. Maybe.

Deadpool stares up at the memorial and then turns to stare at the silent figure next to him. Then back to the memorial, then back to…

“You’re Bucky Barnes. You, you were Captain America’s sidekick! You were his best friend! And now you’re the _Winter fucking Soldier_ are you _shitting_ me?”

The Soldier stares at him, and if a completely blank face could radiate discomfort, the Soldier’s did.

“The Asset was conditioned to accept programming. This one was wiped before each storage and individually programmed for each mission. The conditioning is breaking down.”

That’s…not a question. But it feels like it should be.

“You mean, you think you’re going to go back to being Bucky, or what?”

“James Buchanan Barnes is dead. The Asset will become nothing.”

That’s definitely discomfort on the Soldier’s face.

**Shit, if that isn’t the saddest thing we ever fuckin’ heard.**

_So he’s saying he’s scared of oblivion. Just like the rest of this entire galaxy full of terrified fuckers, only he has no idea what or why._

Deadpool shifts a little, uncomfortably. This is definitively _not_ his area of expertise—which mostly runs along the lines of unaliving people—but he feels the need to help anyway. Even if that help involves applying his own special brand of logic to the situation to see if it makes things better.

**Hey, it hasn’t yet, but it’s always worth another shot, right?**

_It might this time. If They’re feeling merciful. I mean, we at least can’t make it worse, can we?_

**We should know by now to never, ever, ever ask that question.**

_Whatever. It’ll be fine ‘cause They will make it fine. Lookit the tags—Hurt/comfort, right there, see?_

Wade ignores his boxes and turns to the Soldier.

“Look, you have a baseline. Everyone does. Even without any input, as long as you’re not wiped, you’re not going to become nothing. You’re just going to become…you. So all you really have to do is wait until your conditioning is broken down. Unless there’s a way we can help it break down faster. Do you think seeing _him_ will help you figure that out?”

And he jerks his head toward the life-size Captain America dummy. The Soldier shakes his head immediately, as close to vehement as Wade has yet seen him, but without ever taking his eyes off of the looping tapes. Something about them _fascinates_ him, and Wade isn’t sure whether it’s the proof of his existence before the Soldier or seeing himself and the Captain in close combat together.

“Not yet… not until I…until this one is more stable.”

Deadpool shrugs, but movement at the corner of his eye catches his attention and all his years of work alert him to the _barely off_ way the tourist group near the door is acting, and his priorities find a new order very quickly indeed.

“Well, how about you think about it on the way? I think we need to get out of here. _Now._ ”

He grabs the edge of the Soldier’s sleeve and tugs, and even with all his strength he still gets the impression the Soldier only moves because he chooses to. That is, right up until the nearest not-tourist shifts, revealing a slim muzzle through the flap of her purse, and the Soldier goes from bewildered compliance to _deadly_ in half a second flat, and Wade loses his grip as the Soldier gets with the picture, decides the picture isn’t good enough, and declares a new picture in effect.

**You lost me on that one.**

_He means that Bucky decided to fight instead of run._

**Don’t you mean They?**

_No, he. They got a little confused by his thought process too, but hey that’s why we’re here._

Fifteen seconds later the duo stands over a group of downed Hydra agents, and probably a few unwitting civilians, and Wade is babbling into an unresponsive ear as police sirens wail from _far too close_ as if someone’s set a watch on the place. Or as if they had already been alerted by someone. Wade’s too high on adrenaline to even hear what’s coming out of his mouth, to be honest, and the sheer brutal beauty of what he just witnessed will hopefully stay in his mind forever.

“Look I am the last person to _ever_ advocate nonviolence but this is a _really_ public place and do you think Cap _won’t_ be looking for you, even if Hydra isn’t? We’ve got the attention of the entire world and there are security cameras here and I’m not inconspicuous and you _definitely_ aren’t, especially with that arm, so can we _go_ before more backup gets here because I don’t think I want to fight Captain America.”

The Soldier ignores him completely for a moment longer, staring down at his hand and slowly opening and closing it, flexing it as if reliving the sensation of punching Hydra agents in the face. Then, he lifts his head and gives Wade a slow, dazzling smile, showing all of his perfect teeth in a way that seems distinctly threatening.

“We take out Hydra first.”

Wade realizes dazedly, as they’re sprinting toward their getaway vehicle and he turns the implication of those words over in his mind, that no one ever warned him that Bucky Barnes would be such a _troll._

He thinks he’s in love.


End file.
